I Need a Doctor
by Cellzo
Summary: "I'm about to lose my mind, you've been gone for so long, I'm running out of time, I need a doctor, call me a doctor, I need a doctor, doctor, to bring me back to life..." Em/JJ friendship one-shot. Written for littlegreenbottle. T for mild language.


**This was the one-shot for the 100****th**** reviewer for **The Living Dead**, who happened to be **littlegreenbottle**. This is a Em/JJ friendship one-shot loosely based off of the song "I Need a Doctor" by Dr. Dre feat. Eminem & Skylar Grey. It takes place post-Lauren, so there are spoilers, and could be set in the same universe as TLD, but you don't have to read that to understand this. For those who keep up with TLD, expect an update in the next few days: I just haven't been motivated and I sincerely apologize.**

**In the mean time, here you go, **littlegreenbottle**! I worked for about two days on this xD Thank you for your support and reviews, hope you enjoy! Oh, and as it turns out, the chorus describes this story perfectly, so I highly encourage readers to read the lyrics first. :) Lastly, sorry if they're a bit OOC.**

**Rated T for language.**

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><p>"<em>I'm about to lose my mind<br>You've been gone for so long  
>I'm running out of time<br>I need a doctor  
>Call me a doctor<br>I need a doctor, doctor  
>To bring me back to life"<em>

—"_I Need a Doctor" by Dr. Dre feat. Eminem & Skylar Grey_

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><p>Emily was sure that she had developed the first ever potentially fatal allergy to humans. More specifically, the one known as Veronique. But, of course, her name wasn't pronounced with an "ih" sound where the "i" was. Nope, it was pronounced Veron-EEK, which only served in vexing Emily.<p>

It was a little quirk Emily had developed as of late. Normally, she wouldn't have minded it so much, but nowadays, she found every little idiosyncrasy specific to the French populace a bother. The poor, unsuspecting French population honestly didn't deserve her prejudice, but she found herself unable to resist pointing out every comparison between the French and the American. Those innocent little "comparisons," however, quickly transformed into irritating flaws.

On the bright side, being in Paris was decent practice for her fanciful acting career, if Veronique was any indication.

For a month so far, Emily had been forced to tolerate Veronique's, or, as she preferred Emily call her, "Ver's," (Emily always "forgot") incessant preppy behavior. Emily had come to the sound conclusion in her first week of torture—though many might argue the point that living in Paris off of unlimited funds didn't exactly fit the definition of torture—that Veronique closely resembled the girls she had grown up with. In other words, the style that she had rebelled against in high school and had, at all costs, avoided gaining.

The woman was a sixteen-year-old stuck in a thirty-seven-year-old's body. Over the span of a month, Veronique had successfully spilled her life story to a figuratively credulous Emily—whoops, sorry, _Cadence. _Cadence Amber Eiden was her new alias, which she reflected upon with a strong feeling of loathing. Anyhow, if a stalker that didn't know what he was getting into asked Emily about Veronique's freshman year crush for three months, she would safely answer Aiden Lou Lorenski, a kid studying abroad for two years from California. However, he only completed the first year before abruptly returning to America because "France didn't offer the opportunities he was looking for." Veronique had supposedly been heartbroken. Upon hearing this declaration, Emily had to bite back the retort, "try getting pregnant and having an abortion at the age of fifteen in a foreign country without any parents."

Probably needless to say, Emily had lost her temper multiple times with Veronique. As previously mentioned, however, Emily's acting skills had improved notably, assuring that the occurrences in which Emily blew up at Veronique were minimal and short-lived. Her typical excuse was the same as everyone else's: "Pardon moi, je suis très fatigue." Which translated into the same usual excuse in America: "Excuse me, I'm very tired." One convincing yawn and a rub of the forehead later and Veronique forgot the incident, chalking it up to genuine, mind-numbing lethargy. And then proceeded to describe in vivid detail her brief encounter with her, at the time young, prime college professor and the night they'd spent together. And then whine over the phone to Emily the next morning about how he never called back.

She hurriedly raised her porcelain cup off its accompanying platter and to her lips as the memory forced an amused, admittedly cruel, smile onto her face. The deep red mango tea filled her senses for a few brief moments with the unpleasant tang of tartness, at which she pulled the cup away. The smile wiped from her face only to be replaced with an expression of mild disgust, she lowered the cup to the platter again with a small clink and reached for a packet of sugar, trying to rid herself of the irksome flavor.

"Did not like it? I do not blame you," Veronique chirped. Much to Emily's initial shock, she didn't possess the classic high squeak of a girl like her; a quality that Emily was not complaining about her lacking. Not only this, but the girl could converse in English, after having taken a course for the majority of her college years. (Guess what that legendary college professor of hers taught?) Although, there were some exceptions, in which Veronique accidentally fell back into her native language.

"Try the 'hot cinnamon spice tea' next, okay? With the honey." She tapped her empty packet of honey with a perfectly manicured fingernail.

Among other opportunities Emily had taken advantage of, her great tea tasting expedition was one of the more familiar ones to Veronique. Emily had grown fond of tea.

She carefully tore open the small parcel of sugar, gently coaxing the white powder out of its confines and into her drink, aware of Veronique's green eyes observing her every movement. It swirled in the redness of her tea for a few moments and she focused on it while it dissolved, pretending not to feel Veronique's stare. She disposed of the empty packet absently into a nearby trash can, took a small silver tea spoon, and began stirring the sugar into her tea.

With the slight chinks the spoon made against the insides of the cup, Emily suddenly became uneasy under Veronique's gaze. She shifted in her seat and was grateful for the small blessing that she no longer had to be cautious with her subtle body language. It was also a curse, in some sense; that sense being she'd give anything to be put back in an awkward situation with one of her close friends that were trained to read her like a book.

She had to give Veronique some credit where it was due, though, even reluctantly: she was perceptive and kept a conversation going even in the most tense of settings, an aspect that if Emily had ever retained, she evidently no longer did.

"Alors, qu'est-ce que tu vas faire demain?" She smiled convivially, but upon noticing Emily's convincing expression of puzzlement, realized her mistake. "I am sorry. I had mean to say, 'So, what are you going to do tomorrow?'"

"Oh." Keeping up her façade, she quickly compensated for her hesitance. "Nothing interesting, really. I was just going to stay at home for the day, I think. I'm tired, and I still have a bit of work to do for Mr. Richarde." She took a sip of her freshly sweetened tea, and was relieved at the new piquancy.

Mr. Richarde was, of course, her fictional boss, but Veronique didn't need to know that. Cadence was an accountant for Mr. Richarde's blooming French publishing industry. "Work," if Emily did say so herself, was a pretty adequate excuse for spending time away from Veronique. The deceit no longer distressed her for a multitude of reasons that she wasn't about to explore now. Veronique never thought to question her, and so Emily was easily able to get away with the trickery.

"That man really makes you work hard," Veronique commented, her tone sympathetic. Inwardly, Emily scoffed. "I bet he never… how do you say, gets lied?"

"Laid. Gets laid," Emily corrected automatically, accustomed to her inaccuracies in American speech.

Veronique shook her head, her dyed, straight blond hair falling from her bun as she did so. A small smirk played across her perfectly glossed lips as she jested, "I never will understand American terms."

Emily played along with a forced chuckle, taking another hearty sip from her cup and silently delighting in the saccharine flavor.

"Well, it has been fun," Veronique started, triggering a rush of instantaneous relief for Emily. "I should get home to Charles. My poor, what do you call it, nanny?" At Emily's faint nod of affirmation, Veronique continued, gathering her pink Chanel handbag off of the back of her chair. "The poor girl has finals next week, and she really needs the time to study. I will dismiss her early tonight."

Veronique flashed her a dazzling white, toothy smile, which Emily returned halfheartedly. "I will talk to you tomorrow," she called over her shoulder, already hailing a cab at the corner. Emily feigned a reluctant farewell and watched disinterestedly as the vehicle sped away to take Veronique home to her six-year-old son. Her husband moving to Singapore four years previously was not to Emily's bewilderment, even though Veronique justified his leave with the explanation of a family emergency, and refused to elaborate further.

Emily theorized, as she polished off her tea and paid for it, that she only endured Veronique's company because of her appearance, occupation, and lifestyle. She bore large resemblances to who must have been Emily's closest female friend, of whom she deeply missed. Not only the blond hair and the young son reminded her of her friend a continent over, but her job as a DST agent, which was the equivalent of an FBI agent in America.

Emily eventually acknowledged the threat of tears in the form of the tightening knot in her chest just from the essence of JJ. She attempted to compose herself, taking a deep breath and departing from the café, but a few meditative inhalations would only serve to stall crying temporarily. She hastily flagged down a cab, climbed in the backseat, and choked out in as few words as possible her address in French. The indifferent driver didn't give her a second thought and instead opted to perform his job with as little hindrance as possible. This came as a reprieve to Emily, who was suddenly so distraught that the last thing she wanted was more human interaction.

The car halted in front of her new condo, with a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower, albeit from a distance. Emily murmured, "Merci," before handing the driver the appropriate amount of euros and climbing out of the cab. Within seconds she heard the soft squeal of tires as the cab drove away, leaving her standing outside on her own.

A cool wind blew by, and Emily allowed it to hopefully cool down the looming tears. It worked and provided a feeling of refreshment as the stars twinkled overhead in the darkness descending over the famous capital of France. It was a pity one could not see the English Channel from Paris, but the Eiffel Tower would have to suffice. The sight, while coveted by most tourists, was a constant reminder of who she was now supposed to be. Why, this time, had the transition been so difficult?

She stood for what must have been a few sluggish minutes, drowning in the feeling of the wind tickling her fair skin and the serenity of the streets at this time when dusk succumbed to night.

As soon as the wind ceased, Emily found herself feeling very somber, an attitude that would stick around for months to come. Distantly, she felt herself trudging up to her home while her thoughts returned to memories of the media liaison, reliable colleague, and best friend known only as Jennifer "JJ" Jareau. It had stung when she left for the Pentagon, but it would be selfish if Emily hadn't felt happy for her; it was a spectacular promotion. It was just her absence that hurt, and now Emily couldn't help but think that the tables had turned. At least JJ had the comfort of knowing she was in the same country as the team. Emily couldn't even say she was on the same tectonic plate, or continent.

Distracted, she fumbled with her keys and resolved to call JJ in order to quell the painful longing for a while. Finally, her hands and the keys cooperated to open her door, revealing her darkened living room. Flicking the lights on, letting the door close, and depositing her coat, bag, and other possessions by the door, her gaze instantly fell on the bar by the flat screen television hanging on her wall.

Goal in mind, she made a beeline for the tiny bar, pouring herself a glass of red wine and began nursing it nearly instantly. She set the bottle down and sank into one of the cushioned chairs facing the television, looking at the blank screen but not seeing anything. The alcohol effectively settled her nerves enough for her to muster up the courage to grab for the phone and dial JJ's number, which she had memorized by heart, faster than she could reconsider.

The ringing seemed to echo, and Emily realized just how miserable she was. Veronique apparently made for a suitable distraction, but as soon as she was on her own, her mood did a one-hundred and eighty-degree turn. She took a long drag from her glass as she continued listening to the periodic ringing.

This was no life, she figured. At some point, for one reason or another she had completely embraced the role of Lauren Reynolds, an arms dealer's lover. To today she still examined her willingness to become Lauren, but the answer her mind conjured up always seemed inconclusive or unsatisfactory. However, the point was that Cadence was not like Lauren. Lauren had almost been like her second personality, another side of her entirely that had coincidentally, perhaps regrettably, been uncovered. Cadence was not; she was foreign, unfamiliar, strange, and unwelcome. Lauren, Cadence, and Emily were all different people, and deserved to be treated as such. The result of combining the three, known solely as Emily, despised Cadence the most with a fiery passion.

Cadence endured without protest the presence of a woman that she detested, luxuriated without having ever earned it, and most of all, lied. She repeated a back story that had been dictated for her, and that to Emily was a revolting prospect. Meanwhile, she was slowly taking over Emily's life full of UnSubs, banter, and some of the most solid friendships she had ever known.

Her closest connection to Emily's life had just picked up the phone and Cadence retreated into the confines of Emily's mind. _"Hello?"_

Knowing better than to pause and cause reason for alarm, she instantly introduced herself by saying the first thing that came to mind, surprised to hear her voice cracking. "JJ," she practically whimpered into the phone, feeling as though her voice summarized her mood.

"_Em?"_ she inquired softly, and Emily didn't need to see her in person to be able to detect the notes of concern playing out in her tone.

"Yeah, it's me," she replied, hearing the tears as they finally broke free and streaked down her cheeks. All thoughts of intoxication went out the window and the glass was abandoned and forgotten on the coffee table in front of her.

"_Em, are you alright?"_

Emily decided to take a leap of faith and answer honestly. "No, I don't think so." A sob wrenched free, and Emily understood a moment too late that JJ would have been able to hear it. What the hell did it matter anymore, she reprimanded herself; who else was she going to cry to?

"_What's wrong?"_ her voice came through over the phone, and Emily felt a blanket of comfort settle in her chest but do nothing to appease the tears. It helped that she no longer fought them.

Envisioning her crystal blue eyes offering much needed succor as vividly as she possibly could without a visual aid, Emily began her confession. "I don't like Paris, Jayje."

"_Then change aliases. You have two others, remember?"_

"I know. That's not what I mean."

"_I don't understand, Em." _She sounded sincerely apologetic, and Emily didn't doubt this.

She took a shuddering breath while comprising her thoughts into a coherent sentence, and finally answered. "I don't like Paris, Jayje," she repeated. "The view is nice, the money is nice, the food is nice, the tea is nice—"

"_The tea? I didn't know you were one of those people that experienced a place by taste," _JJ attempted to lighten Emily's atmosphere a bit, and Emily was thankful that it was sufficient, though for the life of her she couldn't think of anything to respond with. She went on with her tale instead.

"All of it is lovely, Jayje, but I'm still unhappy." She sniffled and swatted at a tear dripping down her cheek before it fell. "I met a girl; you could say she's my only friend here. Her name is Veronique. She's really annoying, but she reminds me of you."

"_How flattering, Em."_

"She has blond hair like you, she has a son like you, and she works in what is the French version of the FBI."

"_You have a replacement me in Paris?"_

Emily was about to deny this accusation when she realized that it was utterly true; she had inadvertently filled the gap that JJ's vacancy in her recent life had created. "I miss you, Jayje," Emily confirmed, sure that the sounds of her crying were drifting through the phone, but not giving a shit anymore. This was her first chance to finally break down, and she was taking it.

"_Em," _JJ spoke her nickname soothingly, and Emily heard the rustling of papers in the background, grabbing her attention.

"You're still at work?" Emily interrupted incredulously, her own misery transitorily forgotten. "Isn't it past midnight for you?"

"_Why is this surprising for you? It's no different from working at the BAU. Anyways, Will pulled an all-nighter at work last week and he owes me," _she remarked with a slight hint of amusement. _"Besides, I was just getting ready to go home. Don't worry about me—I'm more worried about you."_

Emily sighed, relenting; she had a valid point. "I don't know, Jayje." Here she stumbled on her own words, finding herself unsure. It occurred to her that she could have called Hotch and spoke with him to re-familiarize herself with the family she had left behind, but she hadn't. Given, he wasn't always the most sensitive person, but that was part of his professional mask. Emily was fortunate enough to know the other sides of him that the team so scarcely saw: namely, his fatherly side and his friendly side.

Emily hadn't spoken to Hotch since before she had initially fled. As for JJ, she hadn't spoken to her since she had sat down with her and built the foundations for Cadence in the same café Emily had been sitting in with Veronique less than an hour ago. In fact, come to think of it, Emily hadn't catalogued the minute detail until this moment: she had subconsciously been doing everything in order to remind herself of what she once had with JJ.

"You're right," she finally blurted out. "I do have a replacement you. I didn't mean to, it wasn't my intention, but I see I do." As if every word she had spoken up 'till now had been a chip at the walls she built for herself, any lingering composure she had crumbled to dust. "I can't live like this, Jayje," she divulged, feeling the soft velvet of a plush mahogany colored pillow as she automatically clutched it to her chest.

"_Em," _JJ sounded as if she was uncertain, which Emily was sure she was. After all, Emily would have found some lame excuse to hang up or to avoid speech had it been her in JJ's position. What do you tell a friend that's losing her life in another continent? They both shared in the knowledge that there was nothing JJ could say to possibly alleviate Emily's feelings of sorrow and dejection. JJ dwelled silently on this matter.

"I can't do this, Jayje!" she cried into the phone, burying her head into the opulent and supple fabric of the pillow. The phone toppled from her unsteady grasp, disregarded in the heat of an overwhelming and neglected sadness being addressed for the first time. The material rapidly dampened with her salty tears, but Emily only wept on while JJ hung up to make another phone call.

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><p>When Emily blinked open her bleary eyes the next morning, her vision was assaulted with bright afternoon sunlight. The mild pounding in her head became more violent and Emily was caught off guard by a wave of nausea, at which she groaned and shrouded her face once again with the still somewhat moist pillow. She couldn't recall the last time she had cried herself to sleep after the age of twenty one when alcohol was no longer a legally prohibited part of her life.<p>

Once she felt she had adapted to the burst of light, she raised her head, supporting herself with her elbow. Her head protested the movement but she ignored it, focusing on the shrill ringing that had seemingly been at fault for rousing her from sleep. Annoyance was obvious in her movements as she sharply grabbed for the phone she had unintentionally discarded last night during her breakdown. She felt a pang of guilt for having deserted JJ, who had only looked to console her, and she made a mental note to apologize later. That was, after she read the caller ID and practically whined in objection before picking it up.

"_Oh my lord, _Cadence_," _Veronique exclaimed dramatically, getting straight to the point and leaving no room for complaint. Emily sat back, preparing herself for the barrage of squeals and wails sure to accompany a morning phone call.

"_You will not _believe _what happened this morning," _she shrieked excitedly, and Emily could imagine her jumping around and clapping like the hyper person she could be. In order to distract herself from a story that she would undoubtedly have no concern with, she leaned forward to seize her glass, still plentiful with the deep red wine.

This morning, as she listened to Veronique chatter away in her faulty English while she focused intently on scrubbing her glass until it sparkled, she found herself immensely chafed by the sound of Veronique's voice and not JJ's. Ordinarily, she was at least able to condone their clashing natures and even managed to survive the day with minimal to no aversion. This morning, however, something had changed, a switch had been turned, and Emily discovered herself to be melancholy.

"—_and there was syrup all over—" _Emily only caught the occasional snippet of the autobiographical narrative of Veronique's allegedly eventful morning thus far. She was too busy bowing her head over the sink, shocked to realize she had to put up a resistance to sobs. Although, Emily had to admit, it was comical that Veronique's voice should force her to the brink of tears.

She smiled to herself despite the droplets of water spilling from her eyes. However, when she had to take a deep, shaky breath to prevent another wave of tears, the smile vanished in the blink of an eye.

"—_a butterfly on the windshield—" _Emily started as a mewl sounded from the doorway to the kitchen. While Veronique went on heatedly, Emily bent down to greet Sergio, the black cat desperate for a breakfast of French feline cuisine, the name of which Emily couldn't be certain. After patting the cat apologetically between the ears she busied herself with fetching the bag of dry cat food from the pantry and replenishing the empty bowl and refilling his water dish. Sergio purred his thanks and swiftly went to devour his food.

Even the cat reminded her of JJ, which wasn't surprising, considering it was courtesy of her that Sergio was experiencing Paris at all (not that it made much difference to him, as long as he was catered to). After her first week a screeching carrier had been delivered to her condo, with a note from JJ explaining that she had made all the arrangements to have Sergio live in Paris with her and hoped that it would assist her in feeling more at home and that she wished her all the best. Emily had never properly expressed her gratitude.

"—_left the tag on the overalls—" _She left Sergio to his devices and entered the living room, only to feel the compressing weight of emptiness and loneliness. Even with Sergio munching away in the other room and Veronique babbling on in her ear, Emily still felt secluded, withdrawn, and far too solitary. Emily had never felt this way on a Sunday in the last five or so years of her life, always reassured by knowing that if not tomorrow than the day after that she would be welcomed back and among friends once more. Now, there was no such guarantee.

She couldn't accept that Emily Prentiss was deceased.

The piercing sound of her doorbell quite literally made her jump. A startled meow came from the kitchen, and on the other end of the line, Veronique was silenced. Veronique knew better than to point out that she hadn't been aware of any other close friends, acquaintances, or co-workers.

"_Was that your doorbell?" _Veronique inquired just to confirm.

"Yeah…" Emily responded slowly, her eyes suddenly glued to her unmoving door while she approached it cautiously. "I'll call you back," she said, and without waiting for a goodbye clicked the phone off and set it down on the coffee table as she passed it.

She peered through the peephole, only to hear herself gasp and rush to yank the door open. When the door finally gave way Emily surged forward, embracing the petite person with as much gusto as she could possibly display. The person grunted in surprise, but quickly began giggling and wrapping her own arms around Emily while Emily clung to her as if her life depended on it.

"Em," she said between giggles, trying to unravel herself from Emily's grasp.

"Sorry," Emily said, but honestly not meaning it, far too pleasantly thrilled to see JJ standing in front of her in all her glory. "JJ, come in," she said, stepping back in an open invitation. JJ took it, stepping into her wide living room and gazing around with wonderment while Emily locked the door.

"Wow, Em, this isn't bad," she declared in appreciation.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you here?" Emily asked, recovering from the jolt.

"For you," JJ answered casually, as if it were ordinary that she travel overnight, across the world to see her troubled friend.

"What about Henry and Will?"

"He owes me, remember? And I told them it was an emergency; they even escorted me to the airport. Oh, and I got you this."

JJ walked around to stand in front of Emily and from her purse, unveiled a small, violet parcel with a drawstring. When she gently drew it open, she extracted first a silver chain, gleaming in the sunlight streaming in from her large glass windows. Emily watched curiously as the jewelry was entirely exposed, and when she saw the stone, her breath caught in her throat.

"It's gorgeous, Jayje," Emily said, taken aback by its glimmering splendor and the thought put into the gift. "Opal?"

"Mm-hmm," JJ nodded, smiling knowingly as she detected Emily's awestruck features. She stepped forward and clasped the necklace onto her pale neck and stepped back, thoughtfully observing the way the blue of the stone contrasted against her pallid tone. "Looks nice, Em."

Emily shook her head, hugging JJ once more. As she pulled back her slender fingers found the round stone, fingering it gingerly to test out the cool, smooth feel. "Thank you, Jayje. You didn't have to get this for me."

"You deserve it," JJ chimed with a smile and a wink. "So, what have you bought?"

"Excuse me?"

"Em," JJ nearly whined, "you're in Paris and you're telling me you haven't gone shopping?"

"So what if I haven't?" Emily smirked mischievously and somewhat suspiciously.

"We're fixing that right now. C'mon," she urged, clutching Emily's wrist and her belongings. "I think you need a little Kurt Vonnegut to cheer you up," she announced, dragging Emily out the door, leaving no room for Emily to challenge her authority in the matter. "Where's the nearest bookstore?"

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><p>While Emily directed JJ to said bookstore with a simulated displeasure, she couldn't help but think that no matter what JJ did, she wouldn't be able to bring Emily Prentiss back to life. However, she didn't voice this opinion, and instead preferred to enjoy the day with JJ while she had it, before she had to return to America.<p>

Throughout the day, Emily and JJ did end up purchasing a handful of Kurt Vonnegut books, which Emily spent the day toting around in a plastic bag. Meanwhile, the chat between them was continually flowing, fortunately uninterrupted by an intrusive Veronique. Over lunch, which they had shared in front of the Eiffel Tower, they participated in a lively debate about Mr. Richarde's family, including his mistress, disowned teenager, former police dog, and other details. JJ had gotten a rise out of Emily when she announced that his mistress previously served six years in a prison in Brazil for carrying drugs. JJ herself had been entertained by Emily's story of the disowned teenager having left home at the earliest age possible and joining a Norwegian death metal band.

"I still think the criminal should have barked back at the dog and the dog got scared, which is why he's no longer a police dog," JJ insisted as they departed from the café, headed for Emily's condo after a full afternoon of mirth.

"I say tragic doughnut accident," Emily chuckled, flagging down a cab and climbing in after JJ. While she dictated to the driver her address, she noticed out of the corner of her eye JJ looking out the window at the darkening sky. Emily's expression turned wistful as the car sped away, the buildings on either side of them blurring past.

Suddenly, a dire question came to mind. "Jayje, when's your flight back?"

JJ's attention turned to her lap, picking at a loose thread in her jeans. "At twenty one o'clock tonight. Which means, I'd get back to DC at around eight pm."

Emily slid her phone out of her bag, unlocking it to check the time. "It's eighteen-thirteen now," she informed her. Emily cast a glance upwards at JJ, who had leveled her focus outside the window again. "What's wrong?"

"I hate seeing you upset," JJ confided, shifting in her seat but never turning. "You've been through enough already, and it must kill you to have to live like this. I couldn't imagine it."

"Jayje," Emily began uncertainly, only to discover that she had no words. She sighed in defeat instead, resting against the door on her side and allowing herself to become lost in the shapes, colors, and signs as they sped past.

* * *

><p>The ride would take a good while, and it provided the pair with the silence they needed to come to terms with what was happening now. While JJ's visit had been brief, it had reminded them of what they had lost. JJ had switched jobs, while Emily had faked her own death and moved across the world in order to save herself and those she held dear. Meanwhile, JJ always came home to a loving husband and an adorable son. She always had the ability to pick up the phone and call anyone at the BAU and converse freely with them. Emily could no longer do this; she had to become detached from a world she once knew.<p>

It was the beginning of the end for Emily, and they were both grimly aware of this.

The next hour and a half passed were less solemn than the time spent in the car, but still rather serious. For the first twenty minutes or so they gossiped like schoolgirls and, later on, discussed more pressing topics, during which Emily tensely lamented about the team and JJ about Emily herself. This conversation ended in a tearful session for Emily, which JJ held her and bolstered her through like the supportive friend she was.

"I don't… I can't keep this up, Jayje," Emily sniffled, her fingers unconsciously clasping the opal stone and twirling it. "I miss you so much."

"I know, Em, and I miss you too," JJ soothed, draping her arm over Emily's shoulders. "But I'm always a phone call away."

"Will you visit again?"

"I definitely pulled a few strings to get here this time. No promises," JJ said tenderly, but Emily received the underlying message and swiped at the fresh tears that welled in her eyes.

"I want to come back to life," Emily sobbed. "I want Doyle dead and I want—no, need—a doctor to magically bring me back to life. Please, Jayje."

"I know, I know," JJ whispered, rubbing her shoulder in idle circles. "One day, Doyle will be killed and you'll come back," she swore, wholeheartedly believing it.

Emily wailed, enveloping JJ in a hug and crying on her shoulder. JJ wrapped her arms around Emily in a returning hug and watched through the window as night descended and the stars appeared against a black background, a heaviness weighing in her chest. She continued with warm hushed words throughout the night until the Emily yielded to sleep and JJ soon followed suit, resolving to reschedule her flight.


End file.
